Truisms
by Phosphorescent
Summary: They say that only children and fools speak the truth, but now Booth has a third category to add to that truism: forensic anthropologists hopped up on pain meds.
1. The Truth in the Medication

_____Disclaimer: I do not own or lay claim to anything even tenuously associated with Bones; it belongs to various individuals and corporations who are considerably more talented and well-off than myself. I am only playing with the aforesaid characters, situations, settings, etc. for my own amusement and am making no profit whatsoever from this (other than the bettering of my writing skills and my own amusement). No copyright or trademark infringement is intended._

BACKGROUND INFO: _This is set between 5x19 (The Rocker in the Rinse Cycle) and 5x20 (The Witch in the Wardrobe). In this universe, Brennan got slashed on the left arm while pursuing a suspect who (unbeknownst to her) was carrying a knife. Her injury was fairly shallow, but she had to go to the hospital to get stitches. Booth has already chewed her out about going after the suspect alone, she's already informed him that she wouldn't have been wounded if she was allowed a gun, etc. In other words, they've already cleared the air over this particular incident._

_I haven't written all of this because A. I'm too lazy and B. It's all just an excuse to get Brennan injured enough to need pain medication. (And doesn't that sound sadistic?) I realize that Brennan didn't react very dramatically to the pain medication that she received in 5x01; however, she DID go to Avalon's apartment alone in the middle of the night, which I think is a reasonable argument for impaired judgment._

* * *

**Chapter One: The Truth in the Medication**

.

**Temperance Brennan's Apartment, 4:00 P.M.**

"I don't like opioid analgesics, Booth," Bones says stiffly. "They… react in my system in such a way as to make me say things which I do not intend."

"So you act a little out of it on pain meds," Booth says dismissively. "Everyone does."

"I dislike being unable to control myself," Bones continues, wincing as another wave of pain hits her.

"So you'd rather be in excruciating pain?" Booth asks skeptically. "I think not. C'mon Bones, you need 'em."

"You know, in certain cultures it is considered a sign of strength to go without artificial aids. In fact, many cultures believe that pain strengthens the individual."

"And here in the good old U.S. of A.," Booth tells her, "we believe that it's stupid to torture yourself when the wonders of modern medicine are available to you."

"That's a gross generalization," Bones protests, teeth gritted.

"Look, Bones, if it hurts this much to _watch_, the pain's gotta be _killing_ you," Booth says pleadingly. "Just take the meds."

"I…" Bones says.

Booth takes a deep breath, then says, "Look, I promise not to rib you too badly about whatever you say while under the influence. Scout's honor."

"Were you ever a Scout?" Bones asks, biting her lip. "Because if you weren't, then such a promise would be –"

"Doesn't matter, Bones," Booth says. "You have my word."

"And you won't let anyone else near me while I'm babbling?" Bones asks, eyes wide.

"Not a single person," Booth promises. "I won't leave your side."

"Except for when I use the bathroom," Bones says.

Booth rolls his eyes. "Obviously."

"Alright," Bones says. "Hand me the medication."

Booth pumps his fist briefly in victory, and hands her the pills. She gulps them down quickly with the aid of a glass of water. Before long, she's out like a light.

Smiling ruefully, he sets his watch alarm and settles into an armchair with a book.

One of these days, he's going to convince Bones to get a T.V. He's not entirely sure how yet, but _something _has to work. He's tried charming her into it, tried guilting her into it, tried to frame it as an exercise in understanding popular American culture... and Bones still stands firm. He doesn't get it, doesn't get _her_.

Then again, that's always been the case, hasn't it?

**–-– ****–-– ****–-– ****–-– ****–-– ****–-– ****–-–**

**8:00 P.M.**

"Wakey, wakey," Booth says, lightly shaking her shoulder.

"Don't wanna get up," Bones moans. "Lemme sleep."

_It's kind of endearing,_ he thinks. Even when she's drunk, she tends to use complex words, so it fascinates him to see another side of her personality.

"Sorry, Bones," he tells her. "No can do. You need to take your next dose of medicine."

"Wanna sleep," she mutters.

"The sooner you take the meds, the sooner you can get back to sleep," he says patiently.

She scowls, but slowly sits up, rubbing sleep out of her eyes.

_Hah! Logic works every time._

She sticks her hand out mechanically and he drops the pills into it. Eyes blearily surveying the room, she swallows them.

"What time is it?" she asks.

"Eight o'clock," he responds.

"I slept for four hours?" she asks incredulously. "I… I ought to get up. I have paperwork – "

Her words are cut off by a wide yawn. Shaking her head slightly, she continues. "You don't need to stay, Booth. I am sure you have more enjoyable things that you could be doing on a Friday night than looking after your drugged partner."

"And miss seeing you like this?" Booth says teasingly. More seriously, he adds, "After today's events, you need somebody here with you, Bones."

"I am perfectly capable of looking after myself," she protests.

"Yeah," he snorts. "I leave you to your own devices, and you'll try to go back to the Jeffersonian; I know you. And you're not doing paperwork!"

"Why not?" she asks.

"Because you just underwent minor surgery," he says.

She looks unconvinced.

Shaking his head, he reminds her, "You're high on pain medication. Not the best time to write a detailed report or translate legalese."

"I don't know what that means," Bones says blankly, then giggles.

Booth stares at her for a moment.

_Right, the medication._

"Never mind," he tells her. "Go back to sleep."

"But I'm awake now," she states.

Booth's phone chooses now to go off.

"Just a minute, Bones," he tells her, after glancing at the flashing ID. "Gotta take this."

Walking into the kitchen, Booth flips open his phone.

"Hey, Catherine," he says. "What's up?"

"I just wanted to make sure we're still on for Saturday," Catherine says, and he can hear a smile in her voice. "You, me, and a bowling ball… time to make good on your boasts."

"Wouldn't miss it," Booth says, knowing he's grinning like an idiot. "How else can I prove that I wasn't exaggerating my skills?"

"I look forward to it," she says.

There's a moment of silence.

"Well, I won't keep you any longer," she says. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Yeah," he says inanely, feeling like a teenager again.

Shutting the phone, the bright smile on his face fades a bit. It's a tad awkward, thinking about his date in his partner's house.

Pouring himself a glass of milk from the fridge, he walks back out into the living room.

"Who was it?" Bones asks curiously.

"Uh, Catherine," Booth says uncomfortably.

"The marine biologist?" she asks, cocking her head to one side.

"Yep," he says, eager to change the subject.

"I don't like her," she says.

They say that only children and fools speak the truth, but now Booth has a third category to add to that truism – forensic anthropologists hopped up on pain meds.

"Wha… I thought you said she was nice," Booth says in confusion.

"And smart – although not as smart as I am – and very physically attractive," Bones agrees, nodding drunkenly.

"Right," Booth says, lost.

"She is good for you," Bones continues. "She believes in concepts such as 'forever'."

"I fail to see the problem here, Bones," Booth says, shifting uncomfortably in his chair.

"I have been thinking, and I have come to the conclusion that I dislike her," Bones states. "My feelings on this matter are irrational and selfish, but I find it… distressing… seeing you in a sexual relationship with her."

Booth's mouth drops open for a second, before he regains the presence of mind to close it. Choosing to ignore the possible implications of what she's just said, he focuses on the latter part of her statement.

"We've only been on _three_ dates. We are not engaged in a," he lowers his voice, "sexual relationship."

"I didn't necessarily mean the physical act itself. I merely meant that the two of you are in a relationship that is societally defined in a sexual context," Bones says. She looks thoughtful for a moment before adding, "Although, given her present to you, it was not an entirely implausible conclusion. One does not normally give formal gifts of clothing so early in a relationship."

_And the vocabulary is back. _

Apparently even opioids aren't enough to dampen her intelligence for long. But really, he doesn't want his love life being analyzed, and especially not by her.

"So… you don't like her because she's good for me," Booth repeats, feeling like a broken record.

"Correct. Although I also would not like her if she was bad for you," she says reflectively.

"You can't have it both ways, Bones," he says, angry frustration welling inside him. "You've gotta make up your mind."

Her brows knit in confusion.

He's about to really give her a piece of his mind when he remembers exactly _why_ she's being so forthcoming at the moment.

He sighs.

"Look, Bones… just go back to sleep, OK?" he says.

"I do not understand why you are so persistent about this, Booth," she says. "I am not tired."

"Maybe not, but your body could use the rest to help speed up the healing process," Booth reminds her.

"That… is a valid point."

"Always the tone of surprise," he mutters.

"Booth?" she says quietly, curling back up on the couch.

"Yeah?"

"Thank you for staying with me. I know that I have upset you somehow, although –"

"Bones," he tells her. "I'm here for you no matter what, OK?"

Her voice small, she repeats, "Thank you."


	2. The Morning and Afternoon After

_A/N: So, due to popular demand (and some good points brought up by reviewers), this fic is actually being expanded. At the moment, my guess is that there will be between three and five chapters total. As a side note: while re-reading the first chapter, I realized that I inadvertently quoted a _Harry Potter_ character. Did anyone else catch that? It's a bad sign when you start quoting one of your fandoms without even being aware of it. ;-) Needless to say, I own _Harry Potter_ every bit as much as I own _Bones_ (e.g. not at all)._

_I also wanted to ask: are the tense changes in this chapter confusing? I don't have a beta, and I've read this chapter over so many times that I've lost objectivity._

_Finally (just in case it isn't obvious),__ the large chunk of text in italics in this chapter is a flashback._

* * *

**Chapter Two: The Morning (and Afternoon) After**

.

It's Saturday afternoon, and Booth is at the bowling alley. He feels as though he ought to be looking forward to this a lot more than he actually is. But instead of thinking about the beautiful woman he's going to meet, he finds his mind wandering back to this morning and to _her_.

The woman in question had barely remembered anything about the night before, of course. Typical Bones. Just when he thinks he's figured her out, she throws him for another loop without even realizing it.

And admitting that she doesn't like his relationship with Catherine? That definitely qualifies as a loop. A _major_ loop.

If it wasn't for the fact that she'd been under the influence of some pretty strong painkillers last night, he'd think that she was running away again. Of course, he's aware that she probably – OK, definitely – never would have told him all of that if she hadn't been so high. And considering that he's the one who convinced her to take the damned things, he can't really blame her for sending him contradictory messages.

But still…

"_I hope I wasn't too much of an imposition yesterday, Booth," Bones had said hesitantly. "Although assistance was unnecessary, I appreciated your company."_

"_Nah, that's what family does," he said, dismissing her words._

_Looking worried, she continued, "I didn't say anything too odd, did I? When I broke my right fibula as a young adolescent, Russ told me that I alternated between hallucinations of orange manatees – which, of course, was ridiculous as manatees are not orange – and confessing to my crush on Andy Pflueger while under the influence of analgesics."_

"_You don't remember anything from last night?" Booth asked._

"_Only portions," Bones replied. "I think I tried to get some of my paperwork done at one point. Why, what did I do?"_

_This was too good an opportunity to pass up._

"_Seriously, Bones, you don't remember? You wanted to start an institute to prevent discrimination against purple elephants."_

_Bones looked horrified. "I did?"_

_Booth nodded seriously, but was only able to keep a straight face for a few seconds before a smile cracked through._

"_You… you're awful!" Bones said, lightly punching him with the hand attached to her uninjured arm. "You were teasing me."_

_Booth shrugged, smirking. "Sorry, couldn't resist."_

"_Hmmph," Bones snorted, disgruntled. "I'm being serious, Booth. I didn't do anything embarrassing, did I?"_

_And now he had a choice. But in the end, it wasn't much of one._

"_Nope, nothing embarrassing. Really, Bones, you let me down. I was looking forward to some new blackmail material."_

"_What do you mean, 'new'?" Bones asked suspiciously._

"_Well, it's kinda what good friends do."_

"_Collect material for blackmail on one another?"_

"_Get to know each other well enough to have access to embarrassing episodes about the other's life, yeah."_

"_That is a peculiar definition of friendship."_

"_Naw, 'cause it means that for every good story you've got on them, they've got a good one on you. It's a matter of balance and it means that you can trust them."_

_Bones shook her head at his words._

"_I reiterate: that sounds more like a truce than a friendship."_

"_Agree to disagree?" Booth asked wryly._

"_That seems reasonable," Bones said, then changed the subject. "How is Parker?"_

"_Oh, uh, he's doing well. Division U-10 in soccer this year – his team is the Pirates. They've won over half their games this season. And I bet you know about as much as I do about how he's doing at school, huh?" A hint of pride crept into his tone despite his best efforts not to boast._

"_I know how he is doing in science," Bones specified. "He does not discuss his other subjects as often with my father or me."_

"_That's 'cause science is his favorite," Booth said, rolling his eyes, but grinning nonetheless._

_Bones tried not to smile too widely at this news._

"_He really is a very intelligent child, Booth," she said. "You should be proud."_

"_Believe me, I am," he stated firmly. "Speaking of family, how's Max these days?"_

"_He is doing well," Bones replied. "I think he enjoys acting as a science teacher here; he says that it allows him to 'mold' young minds, although that is a patently ridiculous turn of phrase." She paused, then asked in a manner too casual not to be practiced, "How are things going between you and Catherine?"_

"_They're great," Booth said, feeling as though his smile had become pasted on._

"_In what types of social activities have you been engaging?" Bones asked. "Andrew and I have primarily gone on coffee dates, although we have also had lunch together, and gone to a few art galleries. He is quite interested in the old Dutch masters."_

"_Oh," Booth said. "I didn't know that."_

"_Yes, he is full of surprises."_

"_Well, uh, we've had lunch a couple of times. We're going bowling this afternoon."_

"_I imagine she will be impressed by your physical prowess," Bones commented dispassionately. "If memory serves, you are quite adept at that game. I believe you said that your mean was over two hundred."_

"_My… oh, you mean my _average_. You remember that?"_

"_Of course I do, Booth. I have an excellent memory."_

"_Still, that was what – four years ago? Pretty impressive."_

_Bones looked torn between pleasure and irritation at his words._

"_And _you_ won a fancy award named after some guy for a paper that you wrote," he continued._

"_The Marshall H. Dixon Award," Bones concurred. "For my paper on George John Romanes and physiological selection."_

"_See? I remember stuff, too," Booth said._

"_I am aware of that; it is one of the reasons why you are such a proficient agent," Bones said dismissively, as though she wasn't paying him a compliment. Shifting gears, she added, "Although I am appreciative of your keeping me company, you should go home to prepare for your outing."_

"_And leave you here by yourself?"_

_Bones rolled her eyes. "Hardly. As you are fully aware, Angela will be by soon to take her 'shift'." She paused, then added, "I am still irritated with the two of you for ganging up on me, by the way."_

"_It's for your own good," Booth told her unrepentantly._

"_I'm not a child," Bones said. "I am perfectly capable of looking after myself."_

_Booth opened his mouth – whether to agree or to contest that point, he wasn't sure – when a rapping came at the door._

"_Brennan?" Angela called, punctuating her question with another few knocks._

_Booth let her in._

"_I come bearing gifts," she said cheerfully._

_And she certainly had. The second the artist reached the table, she eagerly dropped her bags on it with a _thump_._

"_Angela…" Brennan remonstrated, "This really isn't necessary."_

_Shaking her head, Angela responded, "Maybe not. But it makes us – your friends – feel better to be able to take care of you."_

_Bones sighed in resignation, but Booth fancied that she looked a bit touched by the sentiment._

"_I'm going to use your bathroom for just a sec," Angela said. _

"_You are aware of its location," Bones stated with a shrug._

_The other woman nodded and headed down the hall. _

_When the sound of a door clicking shut was audible, Bones said, "I hope that you have an enjoyable time on your social excursion at the bowling rink this afternoon, Booth."_

_Half-smiling, Booth responded, "_Alley_. It's an __alley__, Bones, not a rink."_

"_The bowling _alley_, then," she corrected._

_Somewhat awkwardly, he continued, "And, uh, thanks. Remember, if you need anything – and I do mean anything – give me a call. Don't let your pride get in the way, Bones." _

"_I'll be fine," Bones reiterated firmly, eyes boring into his._

_Booth nodded reluctantly. "You and Angela have a nice girls' day, alright?" _

_As if on cue, Angela reappeared from the bathroom._

"_Oh, we will, G-man, trust me," she said flirtatiously, a twinkle in her eye._

"_Right then," Booth said, rubbing his hand together nervously, "You do that. _I'm_ leaving."_

_And with those words, he had exited the apartment._

So why is it that hours later, he still can't get that scene out of his head?

Bones doesn't remember what she admitted, after all; nothing's changed between the two them. He should just put the whole incident out of his head and focus on Catherine: sweet, smart, funny Catherine. Y'know, that beautiful woman who's actually interested in him?

He's going to enjoy this date, damnit, and he's not going to feel guilty about it. He's _not_.


	3. A Modern Female Bonding Ritual

_Disclaimer: Bones isn't mine._

_A/N: So, who knows what happened to Chapter Three when I posted Chapter Four; FF.N is really strange sometimes. Thanks to everyone who let me know what was going on!_

* * *

**Chapter Three: A Modern Female Bonding Ritual**

.

"So, let's see… I brought Cherry Chocolate Chip, Mango, and Mexican Chocolate," Angela says, pulling pints of ice cream out of one of her bags. "Pick your poison, Brennan."

"I have no desire to be poisoned," Brennan replies, "however I suspect that you are asking me to choose an ice cream flavor."

Angela nods. "And the winning flavor is…"

"None, thank you," Brennan says.

"Look, you can't have alcohol at the moment, so ice cream's the next best thing to get your mind off this mess," Angela says firmly.

"I am feeling much improved, Ange."

"A crazy guy stabbed you, sweetie. It doesn't take much for today to be better than yesterday," Angela replies.

"I was merely trying to detain him until Booth arrived," Brennan protests.

Angela arches an eyebrow, then sighs.

"Look, you really worried me, OK? I know you're all about standing up for yourself and you've got twenty different degrees in jujitsu or whatever, but there's this line between good intentions and stupidity, and you crossed it, Bren. You don't have the training that Booth has, and even _he_ doesn't normally chase suspects down dark alleys without backup."

"In retrospect, perhaps I would have been better off informing someone of my whereabouts," Brennan concedes grudgingly. Staring off into the distance, she adds, "He murdered two women, Ange; he'd already wiped out their lives, and he was trying to erase the evidence of what he'd done. It was… not acceptable."

Her voice has that slight crack that Angela associates with an upset Brennan, but her chin is set and her eyes angry.

"We got him," Angela says quietly. "He's never going to be able to hurt anyone again."

Shaking herself out of her introspection, Brennan says, "I know."

"Which brings us back to the need for ice cream," Angela says, briskly changing the subject. "Studies have shown that foods containing high quantities of fat and sugar activate pleasure circuits in the brain and help to decrease stress."

Brennan rolls her eyes. "They have also shown that after that initial rush of endorphins, there is a 'crash', which makes the subject feel even worse than he or she did previously.

"It's _ice cream_," Angela says. "You and I are going to eat ice cream and watch bad movies, and you are going to tell me all about this new girlfriend of Booth's."

"Why would we want to watch bad movies?"

Wagging her finger at her friend, Angela says, "Oh no you don't. This is a modern female bonding ritual with deep anthropological meaning, and you're _not_ changing the subject."

"Fine," Brennan says, plopping down on the couch. "But I am participating under duress."

"Noted," Angela says cheerfully. "By the way, do you mind if I take the cherry ice cream?"

"It's all yours," Brennan assures her.

"Oh good," Angela says, settling herself down next to Brennan. "So spill."

"As you are aware, Booth met her during the case with the NOAA; she's the marine biologist who brought remains from the tiger shark over to the Jeffersonian."

"Mmhm," Angela murmurs encouragingly, grabbing a spoon and digging into her pint of ice cream.

"She is quite attractive and intelligent, although not as intelligent as I am," Brennan continues. "Booth seems quite fond of her, however, and finds conversing with her to be amusing. They are going bowling today."

"Really?" Angela asks interestedly. "Bowling?"

"Yes."

"That's interesting."

"Why do you say that?" Brennan asks puzzledly.

Shifting on the couch, Angela turns to her friend and says, "Teenagers go bowling, Bren. That that's their first date says something about their comfort level with each other."

"Explicate."

"Well, it could either mean that they're not comfortable with one another, so they're reverting to their nervous teen years, or it could mean that they're comfortable enough around one another to act childish."

"I don't know, Ange; that sounds like psychology, and you know what I think about psychology."

"That it's a load of crap," Angela replies promptly. "Which I totally get, sweetie. But that doesn't mean that there isn't some truth to it. Even 'soft' sciences have to get something right once in a while."

She brandishes her spoon to emphasize her point.

"Statistically speaking, you are correct," Brennan concedes.

Angela nods. "Well, you know what they say," she says with a shrug, "If you give a roomful of monkeys typewriters, eventually they're going to churn out the works of Shakespeare."

"Actually –" Brennan begins, no doubt preparing to go on a long spiel about the improbability of the Infinite Monkey Theorem.

"_Theoretically_," Angela interrupts.

"I have never understood the appeal of that hypothesis," Brennan muses absently.

"Never mind," Angela says. "So, Booth and the Fish Lady are going bowling together."

"You shouldn't call her that, Ange," Brennan rebukes. "Booth likes her, and that's a rather derogatory sobriquet."

"I'm not saying it to her face, am I?" Angela protests. "Besides, she works with fish. It's only insulting if she chooses to take it that way."

Brennan raises an eyebrow.

"Fine," Angela admits. "I don't like her very much."

"You've barely met her."

"And this means I can't dislike her?" Angela asks. "What I think doesn't matter, though. How are _you_ dealing with this?"

"I am glad that Booth has found someone with whom he can engage in social activities with the intent of determining compatibility," Brennan says stiffly.

"Right, because you sound so happy," Angela scoffs.

"I want Booth to be happy," Brennan says earnestly, "And Booth wants a committed, monogamous romantic relationship. Why wouldn't I be happy for him?"

Angela bites her tongue to keep from screaming. The power of denial runs strong, alright.

"Right, silly me," she mutters. "I don't know what I was thinking."

"Neither do I," Brennan replies.

"You know what?" Angela decides. "You and I… we're going to watch a movie. And you're going to pick it to death, and I'm going to tell you to just sit back and enjoy it. And we'll go from there."

"I believe I can manage that," Brennan says.

"Good," Angela says, putting down her ice cream.

Maybe by the time the movie is over, she won't have the urge to beat her best friend over the head with one of her own books ("_Look, Brennan! For God's sake, look at this passage with Kathy and Andy!") _repeatedly.


	4. Bowling and Bets

_Disclaimer: Owner of Bones = rich. I ≠ rich. Therefore, I ≠ Owner of Bones._

_A/N: Booth/Hannah on the show has been giving me major writer's block on this story. Still, I promise that I _will _finish it. At any rate, this chapter is pretty short, but it helped me to break through said writer's block. Expect another chapter within the next two weeks, and please accept my apologies for taking so long to update._

* * *

**Chapter Four: Bowling and Bets**

_._

_From Chapter Two:_

_Bones doesn't remember what she admitted, after all; nothing's changed between the two of them. He should just put the whole incident out of his head and focus on Catherine: sweet, smart, funny Catherine. Y'know, that beautiful woman who's actually interested in him?_

_He's going to enjoy this date, damnit, and he's not going to feel guilty about it. He's _not_._

.

Only he does. Feel guilty, that is.

Don't get him wrong, he's enjoying spending this time with Catherine. It's just… he's a little distracted, OK? His partner almost got killed yet _again_. That'd distract anyone.

Bones practically tossed him out her door, though. She _told_ him to go have fun with Catherine. Besides, she's with Angela. And unlike Bones, Angela has something that resembles common sense when it comes to basic personal safety.

She'll be _fine_.

"You weren't lying," Catherine says, smiling, as he swaggers back down to where they're sitting, having just gotten another strike.

Her dimples are brought into prominence by the smile, and he's struck again by what a beautiful woman she is.

"Bowling league in college," Booth says modestly, grinning at the praise nonetheless. "Might have won a couple of awards."

Catherine snorts. "Not that you'd ever mention them."

"Me?" he asks, his face a picture of innocence.

She shakes her head and laughs.

"Alright, my turn," she says, getting to her feet. "I'm warning you, though… you're going down."

He raises an eyebrow that she calmly ignores.

She walks over to the machine and lifts her ball, adjusting her fingers in the holes. Then she brings her arm back in a smooth, practiced swing and releases the ball onto the lane.

It's a strike.

"You've done this before!" he says accusingly. "You never told me that."

"You never asked," she responds teasingly. "Really, Seeley, did you think you were the only man to ever ask me… bowling?"

"Well, no… but…"

Taking pity on him, she explains, "I was in a league myself for a couple of years."

"It shows," he tells her with a wink. "Your form is excellent."

"Why thank you, Agent Booth," she teases.

"Agent Booth?" he asks. "When did I get demoted from 'Seeley' back to 'Agent Booth'?"

"Ever since it became apparent that your mind is somewhere else today," Catherine replies, smiling wryly. "Want to tell me what's going on?"

And damn. There's another reason to feel guilty.

He'd thought he was doing such a good job hiding his distraction, too.

"Nothing much," he says, shrugging. "Just…"

She raises an eyebrow in question.

"My partner – you remember her, right? – she got hurt while pursuing a suspect yesterday."

"Is she alright?" Catherine asks immediately, concern on her face.

"Yeah. She needed a couple of stitches, but she's doing fine," Booth replies.

"I'm glad to hear it," Catherine says. "Did you catch the suspect?"

"Yep," Booth says with grim satisfaction. "And the squints conclusively proved that he was our murderer. He's in lockup."

"Well, there you go," Catherine says. "He can't hurt anyone again, thanks to you."

"And Bones," he adds.

"Thanks to the two of you," she agrees good-naturedly. "Now that we've cleared that up, let's finish this round. Loser buys winner lunch?"

"Oh, it is _on_, lady," Booth says, grinning.

"Best of luck to you, honored opponent," Catherine says, smirking. "You're going to need it."

–**-– –-– –-– –-– –-– –-– –-–**

As Catherine had predicted, Booth had needed every bit of luck that he could scrounge up. Fortunately for him, Lady Luck smiled, and he carried the game.

"Well, I suppose there are worse things than losing to a big bowling champion," Catherine says as she returns her rented shoes to the counter.

"Hey, I'm a gracious winner," he assures her. "So gracious, in fact, that I'll pay for lunch _despite_ our bet."

She shakes her head. "No, a deal is a deal. I'm paying for lunch… but that means that I get to pick where we eat."

"I can live with that," he says, giving her a charm smile. "But I'm driving."

"That's fine by me," she returns. "I know just the place."

* * *

_Next Chapter: Catherine and Booth talk, and Catherine makes some important realizations._

_Opinions? Constructive criticism? ...Justified complaints about the length of time in between updates?_


	5. The Lie in the Labeling

_Disclaimer: Bones doesn't belong to me; it never has, and it never will._

_A/N: So those two weeks? I lied. And I am a terrible, horrible fanfiction writer for taking so long. Here's the chapter... forgive me? _

**

* * *

**

**Chapter Five: The Lie in the Labeling**

.

Catherine suppresses a sigh as Seeley 'inconspicuously' checks his cell phone again.

Really, for a man who's an F.B.I. agent, he's not nearly as sneaky as he thinks he is. She assumes that he's better at subterfuge when he's undercover; if he wasn't, he'd be dead by now.

She takes another sip of her wine, allowing it to linger on her tongue for a few seconds before swallowing.

He's still worried about his partner, that much is obvious. And completely understandable. Still, part of her wants to tell him, 'You know, Seeley, you _could_ have just cancelled'. It's not as though there weren't other things she could do with her Saturday, after all.

"So, do I get brownie points for my choice of restaurant?" Catherine asks lightly, bringing his attention back to her.

"Yeah, you get points," Seeley says, smiling. "This pasta is fantastic."

Nodding in agreement, Catherine explains, "Mama Rosetti makes it herself in the restaurant kitchen."

"Nice," he says appreciatively. "Bones loves that sort of thing. Once her arm's all healed, I should bring her here. She'd get a real kick outta it."

Catherine almost raises her eyebrows. _Rosetti's Ristorante_ is fairly casual, but it's definitely a place for couples.

Still, she reminds herself, Dr. Brennan was recently injured in the line of duty. It's only natural that she's on his mind.

"Why don't you order her some to go?" she asks instead. "I highly recommend their agnolotti."

He shakes his head. "Bones is a vegetarian, so agnolotti is out. But bringing her back some food is a good idea."

After a few minutes of perusing the menu: "Aha! Got it." Seeley puts the menu back down in satisfaction. "I'll get her the Ricotta Gnocchi with Pesto Sauce. Bones _loves_ pesto."

"You must have eaten a lot of lunches together in order to understand her preferences so well," Catherine comments, trying to hide her curiosity.

"Well, we've been partners for six years," Seeley says with a shrug. "But me and Bones – we're just partners, Catherine."

"You wouldn't be on a date with me if you were going out with her," Catherine agrees.

She doesn't know the man very well, but Catherine has a feeling that he's not the sort to cheat.

Booth shrugs an awkward assent.

And it's that shrug – that slight, awkward shrug – that tells her all she needs to know.

Catherine's always suspected that Seeley was recovering from a bad breakup or a rejection of some sort; she's been there enough times herself to recognize the signs. It had just never occurred to her that the woman who'd broken his heart was Dr. Brennan.

When they'd first met, he hadn't been paying much attention to his partner, after all; his focus had been firmly on _her_. It'd been ages since Catherine had reduced so obviously confident (and attractive) a man to stumbling and stammering; it had been a real ego boost.

She supposes she should be grateful that she's discovering his emotional unavailability now rather than later on down the line, when she'd become really attached.

Because he's definitely someone she could see herself becoming attached to. Maybe it's just her, but she feels as though the two of them have the potential to build something real. (If nothing else, they have physical attraction in spades.) Apparently that's not in the cards, though.

He's always going to compare her to some idealized version of his partner – to a dream, to the ghost of a relationship. And she can't compete with that… no mortal woman could. She suspects that not even the real flesh-and-blood Dr. Brennan could compare to her romanticized self.

No, Catherine can't compete with the image that Seeley is carrying around inside his head. It's clear that Dr. Brennan is the standard, and no other woman will ever even begin to measure up.

Catherine isn't a fool or a masochist… she refuses to compete with a fantasy.

So when the bill comes, she takes a deep breath and bites the proverbial bullet.

"I like you a lot, Seeley," she says, "but I can't do this anymore."

He looks confused and more than a little bit hurt.

"Your heart isn't in this," she explains frankly. "You're still wrapped-up in the relationship that you just got out of."

He opens his mouth as if to protest, but she cuts him off.

"There's some sort of unresolved business between you and your ex, and until you take care of that, we can't move in any direction."

His eyes darken with something (sadness?) and his jaw tightens.

Letting out a quiet sigh, he says, "You're right. I'm sorry, this isn't fair to you."

And it isn't, damn it. Here's a handsome, compassionate, intelligent man with a sense of humor – one of that dying breed that subscribes to chivalry. And she can't help but feel as though she's been cheated somehow. Because his being single is just false advertising. And doesn't it figure?

Still, she's a grown woman, and mature enough to understand where he's coming from. So instead of railing against the universe, she just smiles sadly and says, "It isn't fair to you either."

* * *

_A/N #2: I feel as though I got rid of Dr. Bryar too quickly for it to be believable; if I hadn't done that, though, it would have taken me even longer to write this fic. So let's just pretend that Booth talked about Brennan a lot on all of his other dates with Catherine, OK? Besides, there's canon evidence for Catherine being perceptive. In _The Predator in the Pool_, she makes a comment about how her intuition is telling her that Booth could "use some company"._


	6. The Perception in the Moving Picture

_A/N: *slowly shuffles in, dodging rotten fruit*_ Due to Real!Life, it's been over two months since my last update. There's a reason why I normally don't write anything longer than one-shots, and you're experiencing it firsthand, you lucky readers, you. Sorry! At this point, there's only one chapter left in this fic. Thanks to everyone who is still reading, and I'll get the last chapter up within a month. Really. Who knows, maybe I'll even finish it by the end of _this_ month. Here's to hoping!

Also, if you haven't read Dashiell Hammet's _The Thin Man_, or seen the 1934 movie adaptation, I highly recommend checking them out at your local library.

Once again, thank you for your patience, and enjoy the chapter.

* * *

**Chapter Six: The Perception in the Moving Picture**

.

"So, what kind of a movie mood are you in?" Angela asks, taking movies out of her bag. "An angry 'fuck all men' movie, a depressed 'need a good cry' movie, or a wistful 'unrealistic fairytale' movie?"

"Are those my only options?" Brennan inquires. None of the above genres sound particularly appealing to her. (She doesn't even bother to ask why someone who was angry would copulate with every man in sight or to mention that, by definition, fairytales are unrealistic.)

"Pretty much," Angela says cheerfully, rummaging through the bag. "Hold on – aha!" She holds a Digital Versatile Disk case aloft in triumph. "You've got your other option, Bren: _The Thin Man_."

Frowning, Brennan asks, "And what is this film about? I assume that a man lacking excess body mass is involved."

"Funny," Angela says wryly.

Brennan smirks.

"This thing is a classic," Angela continues, rapping the DVD case for emphasis. "It's about this couple – Nick and Nora Charles – who solve a murder. Lots of witty wordplay. Come to think of it, it's probably your kinda thing."

"That sounds considerably more interesting than the other choices," Brennan says, drawing her laptop out of its case.

"_The Thin Man_ it is!" Angela says, handing her the disk.

-–- -–- -–-

The movie proves to be highly engrossing, so much so that she doesn't even comment on its multiple discrepancies. In fact, it reminds her a little bit of some of the silent films she'd watched in her youth. The main characters are glamorous and witty, rarely taken aback by events; they're the sort of people that she has always tried to emulate.

But the movie is also painfully reminiscent of the story that she wrote while Booth was in his coma. It's set during the same general era, and its bickering leads remind her of Mr. B. and Bren. (Of a life that was almost lost, and of a life that never was.)

And certain lines of its dialogue run just a little bit too close to life for her liking.

_Nora: "Take care of yourself."_

_Nick: "Why, sure I will."_

_Nora: "Don't say it like that! Say it as if you meant it!"_

_Nick: "Well, I do believe the little woman cares."_

_Nora: "I don't care! It's just that I'm used to you, that's all." _

In the beginning of their partnership, Brennan had vehemently denied missing Booth during each of their separations. But Booth – he'd known better. He'd teased her until she had admitted that maybe she'd missed him, just a little bit. That perhaps she'd thought about him once or twice in passing.

Booth has become such a fixture in her life that she can't imagine a life without him in it. When Booth had made his romantic overture, that was one of the first things that had popped into her head. A life without Booth would be like a life without sun. Which is hyperbole, of course. Living things need sun; she doesn't _need_ Booth. Don't be ridiculous. She doesn't _need_ anyone. She's Dr. Temperance Brennan and she can stand on her own, thank you very much.

Only… it gets lonely being Dr. Temperance Brennan sometimes. She has Angela, true, but somehow that's not the same. For all their superficial differences, Booth understands her in a way that no one else does.

She had concluded that it wasn't worth the risk to embark on a romantic relationship with Booth; they both had too much to lose. But what if Booth gets serious about Catherine? What if they get married, have children? She's not so naïve as to think that their friendship would remain unchanged. No woman, no matter how understanding, would allow her significant other to spend as much time with Brennan as Brennan is used to spending with Booth. There would be no more late nights with Thai food, no more movie marathons at the local cinema. His first duty would be to his family, his first confidante his wife – which is as it should be.

But when she imagines all of this, she feels a curious pain in her metaphorical heart.

Why hadn't she thought about this when she turned Booth down?

And, for all of Catherine's beauty and intelligence, humor and apparent empathy, Brennan doesn't like watching her with Booth. It's highly illogical; her mind tells her that the two of them are a good match, but something else in her squirms in discomfort at the thought of their relationship.

Yet Catherine makes Booth happy. And Booth has taught her so much about being a good friend; being supportive of his decisions is the least that she can do to repay him for everything that he's done for her.

So, shields firmly in place, she turns back to the movie. This was just a moment of weakness, that's all. Booth is important to her. He is quite possibly the best man she's ever known, and if Catherine makes him happy, then she's glad he has her in his life. Booth deserves some happiness.

And so, ignoring the leaden feeling in her stomach, Brennan becomes reabsorbed in the world of _The Thin Man_. It really is quite an entertaining film.


	7. The Acceptance in the Agent

_A/N: Almost a year later, Truisms is finally done! I want to thank all of you who joined me on this journey, patiently putting up with my delayed updates and giving me feedback. Words cannot express how grateful I am for your continued interest in this story and for your support._

* * *

**Chapter Seven: The Acceptance in the Agent**

.

After driving Catherine back to her car at the bowling alley parking lot, Booth heads back to his apartment. He has some thinking to do.

He'd liked Catherine, really he had. It wasn't her fault she wasn't Bones.

He lets out a slightly bitter chuckle.

It isn't _Catherine's_ fault he's still stuck on his partner.

Catherine was right… it isn't fair for him to go out with other women while he's still thinking about a specific one. But how is he supposed to move on from Bones without dating other women? For that matter, how the hell is he supposed to get over Bones when he has to work with her every day?

The unfairness of Bones' request that they remain partners strikes him anew. And yet… he doesn't think he could bear _not_ being her partner. It's a little awkward and it's not what he wants, but he'll take whatever he can get. Somehow, without him being entirely aware of it, Bones has become the sun around which his life revolves. A life without Bones would be like a life without sun, and while he resents this fact, it holds true; he can't do without her.

It isn't _fair_. He wants this ache within him to stop, but that means getting over Bones. And he's not entirely sure he _can_ get over Bones, let alone whether or not he wants to. (He's beginning to suspect that even if he wanted to, he couldn't.)

It's been six years since he first met her. He's gone out with exactly four women during that time, and none of them have even come close to taking her place in his heart.

What's _wrong_ with him?

His stomach lets out a growl, and Booth belatedly remembers that he'd never finished his lunch after Catherine's declaration.

In a fit of something he refuses to call petulance, he grabs Bones' food out of the refrigerator and pulls out a fork. Bones doesn't want him? Then she doesn't get to eat the food he got her either.

Sitting down, he stabs a bite of gnocchi with his fork, and proceeds to eat. The stuff is actually pretty good, considering its lack of meat. In fact, it isn't long before he's polished the container off.

As the food hits bottom, he begins to calm down.

This mess isn't anyone's fault; not Catherine's, not Bones', not his. Well, OK, it's partially his and Bones' fault, but at least half of it is plain fate. What he told Bones that night in front of the Hoover is still true; he knew from the moment that he saw her that she was the One. Since then, he's been fighting that knowledge off and on.

Well, no more. There's no getting over Bones, no moving on from her. He accepts that now.

He'll wait for her for as long as it takes. No, it's not fair. But as Pops liked to say, "If life was fair, Seeley, we'd all of us get exactly what we deserved. And that's not much."

Pops kinda has a point. After all he's done, all the lives he's taken, he doesn't deserve much of anything. But thanks to God's grace, he has a lot: a roof over his head, clothes on his back, and food in his belly; a wonderful son, an amazing partner/best friend, a loving grandfather, and a job that gives him purpose. So yeah, maybe he's pretty damn lucky after all.

He grabs the phone and dials Bones' number.

"Brennan," his partner's voice greets him.

"Hey, Bones," he says cheerfully into the receiver. "How was your day with Angela?"

"It was… interesting," Bones says guardedly. "We watched _The Thin Man_ and Angela consumed ice cream."

"Huh. What'd you think of the movie?"

"I liked it very much," Bones says, becoming more enthusiastic. "Have you seen it before?"

"Yep. There are more, ya know. Five more. Not as good as the original, but still pretty good."

"Perhaps… perhaps we could rent them sometime?" Bones asks hesitantly.

"Sounds like fun to me," Booth returns. "You know, you kinda remind me of Nora a little bit."

"Really?" Bones asks curiously.

"Yeah, you're both 'lanky brunettes with wicked jaws'," Booth says, doing his best Nick Charles imitation. (He leaves out the portion of the line where Nick says that Nora's his only 'type'.) "Feisty, independent women who can knock back drinks with the best of 'em."

"Well… thank you," Bones says. "You aren't much like Nick, though; you are by far the better investigator."

"Thanks, Bones," Booth says, warmed to hear her too-rare praise.

"So how was your outing with Catherine?" she asks, abruptly changing the subject.

"Uh, it was fun," he replies. "I don't think I'm going to see her again, though."

"Why not?" Bones asks. "I was under the impression that the two of you liked one another. You are certainly well-suited."

Booth shrugs, momentarily forgetting that she can't see him.

"She was smart and nice and pretty and all that," he agrees, "but we just didn't _click_, ya know? We didn't have it."

"Sexual attraction?" Bones questions.

"I was plenty attr– you know what, I'm not discussing this with you," Booth groans. "But for the record? I was _not_ talking about sex, OK? I was talking about that intangible _something_."

"That is not very specific, Booth," Bones remonstrates. "If you do not know what that 'something' is, how will you ever find it with a woman?"

Oh, Bones. He loves this woman, but some days it feels as though she's being purposefully obtuse. Doesn't she understand that he already has that something with her? Doesn't she understand that she's _it_ for him?

"I know it when I feel it, Bones," Booth tells her firmly. "And Catherine and me? We didn't have it."

"I am sorry to hear that," Bones says awkwardly. "I know that you enjoyed spending time with her."

"We had a good time," Booth agrees, "but it wasn't enough. Besides, the slot in my life for a brown-haired, blue-eyed squint was filled long before she ever came along."

In her most matter-of-fact tones, Bones babbles nervously, "Actually, you have two of those. Both Hodgins and myself fit that description."

"Fine, add female to the list, then," Booth says. He pauses. "Hey, do you wanna grab lunch tomorrow? My treat."

"The Royal Diner?" Bones asks.

"Nah, I was thinking we should give somewhere new a try," Booth says. "I discovered this great Italian place, _Rosetti's_. I think you'd like their pesto gnocchi."

"That does sound appealing," Bones admits.

"Great," Booth says, rubbing his hands together. "Noon sound good?"

"I would prefer 12:30," Bones says. "I have a meeting with my editor tomorrow that goes until noon."

"You're injured, Bones," Booth says exasperatedly. "You know the doctor said you weren't supposed to work for a couple of days."

"My arm was injured, Booth, not my brain," Bones replies a tad acidly. "I am perfectly capable of holding a conversation with my editor about her corrections to my manuscript."

"Yeah, but how are you going to get to her office, huh? You can't drive while you've got a cast," Booth points out.

An image of Bones stubbornly swerving down the highway pops into his mind, and he winces.

Hastily correcting himself, he asserts, "You _shouldn't_ drive while you've still got your cast."

"The meeting is over the phone, Booth," Bones says, sighing. "I am not entirely without regard for safety for myself and others."

"Oh. Right. I knew that," he mutters. "So I'll pick you up at 12:30, then?"

"It's a date," Brennan says, then quickly adds, "in the sense that it is a prearranged social engagement for a particular time and day."

Booth won't deny that he felt a twinge when he heard the word 'date' come from her lips, but he'd known what she meant before her clarification. Bones isn't ready yet. But someday…

"I'll see you at your place tomorrow afternoon," he agrees. "Take it easy until then, OK?"

Bones replies, "Of course. I intend to catch up on the latest issues of my anthropological journals. I'm particularly excited to read an article about a full set of interspecies hominid remains that were recently found in the Maluku Islands; apparently they could provide a crucial link in the evolutionary chain!"

"Right," Booth says, shaking his head in fond bemusement at the anthropologist's idea of fun. "Well, enjoy."

"That is my objective," Bones says cheerfully. "I'll see you tomorrow!"

And with that, she hangs up.

No, life isn't fair. And yeah, this isn't what he wants. But maybe he doesn't know what's best for him. After all, he'd once wanted the picture perfect life with Rebecca, hadn't he? And he's never been gladder that he didn't get it. So maybe… maybe both he and Bones need this, for whatever the reason. And while Booth knows Bones doesn't believe in God or fate, he _does_, and he trusts that there's some sorta bigger plan out there for them. He just has to believe.

What's that truism again? Oh yeah, that's right. Good things come to those who wait.

He'll wait, have the hope and patience that Gordon Gordon counseled last year. Bones is going to catch up to him someday. And then instead of moving on, they'll move _forward_. Together.

* * *

_A/N #2: __I had a difficult time with this chapter; words wouldn't flow, the dialogue felt wooden, and the characters flat-out refused to cooperate. Since so many of you wanted Booth and Brennan to get their acts together, I tried to get them to hook up, really I did. They told me to stuff it. So I hope that this chapter is a decent compromise between what you wanted and what my muse ordered. Booth has accepted that his feelings aren't going to go away and Brennan is one step closer to her own realization. If this version of AU Season Five were to continue, you'd see that although both partners would go their separate ways in the Season Finale, they'd stay in contact with one another. Booth would come back to D.C. sans Hannah in AU Season Six, and Brennan would return ready for a relationship. Around the ninth episode of AU Season Six, they'd get together._

_Once again, thank you for reading! If you have the time, please take a second to click on the pretty little 'review' button; constructive criticism helps me to improve as a writer._


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